A Dream of Sleeping
by xForeversEndx
Summary: Harry notices what he thinks are cuts one day. What will come of this? Slash warning, Trigger content, Potential lemons.
1. Chapter 1

**Alright guys, here's another new one that's been floating around in my head for a few weeks now. With this, I've now got 3 active stories and I will be trying my absolute best to keep up with all of them. Let me know your thoughts with a REVIEW, please. Hope everyone is enjoying the spring! **

Harry sat in the back of the classroom, waiting for Potions to be over already. He sighed, realizing morosely that the period was only 10 minutes in, and he still had another hour and five minutes to sit through before he had any hope of escape. It was Friday, it was fall, and it was lunchtime. There remained absolutely no part of him whatsoever that had any desire to be sitting in a cold, musty dungeon which smelled very strongly of dragon piss.

He allowed his eyes to dart around the classroom, not focusing on any one thing in particular. There was a jar of pickled salamanders on the wall, a crack in the ceiling, and a spider crawling rather near Ron's foot. An evil grin crept across his face and he waited for the spider to crawl even closer to his friend before pointing it out frantically, causing Ron to squeak and shove his chair back into the row of desks behind him. This caused a disruption to the class.

"What in the name of Merlin do you think you're doing Weasley?" Snape snapped irately as the entire room proceeded to laugh at the look of terror on his face.

"S-sorry," Ron stammered. "There was a s-spider…" His eyes darted desperately around the flagstone floor for a sign of the creature. It had disappeared.

"Spiders are not an excuse for a disruption in this class, Mr. Weasley. 10 points will be taken from Gryffindor." There was a groan from the Gryffindors, but Harry continued to smile as Ron rather skittishly continued to search for the spider. He ran his fingers in a crawling motion along his neck. Ron jumped, spun around and punched Harry hard on the arm.

"Fuck you!" He mouthed. Harry laughed silently, and returned to his classroom gazing. There was a pile of dirt in the corner. He counted the number of heads in the row in front him (6), and the number of girls in the class who had ponytails (7), and even counted the number of broken stones on the floor (17). And yet, Harry was still bored. He looked over at Ron for some sort of distraction, but he now seemed not to be speaking to him, and at Hermione, but she was taking furious notes and would probably stab him with her quill if he interrupted her. He tried briefly to listen to Snape's lecture, but found himself falling asleep within the first couple of words.

He sighed again, and started humming to himself in his mind. His eyes continued to dart around the room but didn't really stop until he caught notice of something one row ahead and 3 seats to his left. Now, Harry wouldn't generally pay any attention to the Slytherins, and most certainly never _this _Slytherin, but there was something about Draco Malfoy that caught his eye. Rather, something about his arm.

Malfoy, like Harry, also appeared to be bored, and was sitting with his forehead resting heavily in his left palm. This in itself wasn't all that unusual, but Harry could see from his position behind him that the sleeve of his robe had ridden down a little bit, and beneath it Harry could make out a set of what looked to be cuts on the boy's wrist. His eyes narrowed and he tried to get a better look.

Harry's first instinct was that he wasn't seeing correctly, or that he was jumping to an incorrect conclusion. It didn't make sense for Malfoy to be cutting himself. It just didn't. He scooted his chair as surreptitiously as possible in Malfoy's direction and managed to get a clearer view. Well, they were cuts alright. That couldn't be mistaken. He turned it over in his mind. What could cause cuts like that? Straight, evenly spaced, thin, and deep? After 20 minutes he couldn't reach any conclusion other than that they had been self-inflicted, and this idea simply baffled him.

Harry began to wonder what sort of thing could cause the perfect, pampered Slytherin Prince to cause himself harm like that. How long had he been doing it? Did this mean he was suicidal as well, or just in a tight emotional spot? And most importantly, why the hell did he even care? He stopped for a moment. Well, of course he cared. Sure, he didn't really like Malfoy, but he'd been his classmate for 7 years. And if he was hurting himself then yes, it certainly did worry him. No one deserves that kind of misery. Even assholes like Draco Malfoy. He made up his mind to confront him on the issue. He spent the remainder of class trying to figure out how to do this.

When class ended, Harry sent Ron and Hermione on, claiming that he need to look for something in his back and that he'd meet them in the Hall. They left, and as Malfoy brushed pass Harry to leave, he grabbed a fist full of his robe and pulled him back. Malfoy spun around angrily.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, Potter?!" He snapped. Harry sighed and finished packing up his things.

"Just… just hang on, Malfoy, I need to talk you for second." Malfoy looked at him like he'd lost his mind and for a moment Harry wondered if he had.

"The fuck for?" Malfoy glared suspiciously but seemed too curious to walk away as he hung back and waited for Harry anyway. When everyone else had left the classroom, Harry led Malfoy into the hallway and stopped in an empty alcove that granted them some semblance of privacy.

"What the bloody hell do you want from me, Potter?" Malfoy snapped, coldly. "I have lunch to get to." Harry sighed, wondering if he'd made a mistake. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to work out how to begin.

"Look, Malfoy, earlier during class I thought I saw…" He trailed off and didn't finish.

"Thought you saw what, scarface?" Malfoy pressed, menacingly.

"Nothing…" Harry answered, giving up, "Nothing, it's stupid." Malfoy advanced on him.

"I have no doubt its stupid, Potter, but you're going to tell me right now or I'm hexing your eyebrows off that stupid face of yours!" Harry stood up straight, and looked his enemy boldly in the eye.

"Fine then," he answered shortly. "I thought I saw some marks on your arm and it looked to me like you'd been cutting yourself." Malfoy's reaction wasn't what Harry had been expecting. His expression, previously angry, became guarded, calculating. He backed up slightly, thumbing his left wrist with his right hand, and when he spoke, he tone was protected and suspicious.

"What's that to you?" He asked quietly. Harry was shocked beyond words for a moment.

"S-so I'm right, then?" He stammered out in response. Malfoy's expression went cold, and his tone flat.

"I didn't bloody say that did I, Potter?" Harry sighed.

"No," he answered, "no, Malfoy, you didn't. Look to answer your question, I'm worried." Malfoy's expression changed to anger again.

"Don't fucking lie to me, Potter!" Harry, growing angry himself, shot back a glare in return.

"No, Malfoy, I'm not bloody lying to you! Look, like it or not you've been a part of my life for a long time now and whether you choose to believe it I find the idea of you cutting yourself to be a cause for concern! I know you haven't admitted to anything, but if you _were_ doing that to yourself, it would clearly mean that something's wrong, and yes, I worry because I wouldn't wish that kind of pain on anyone. Not even _you _deserve that." Malfoy stared at him for a long time before answering, and when he did, he rounded on Harry threateningly, and his tone was defensive and shook slightly.

"Yeah well… Well, look here, Scarface! You can take your hero complex and go somewhere else because you didn't see anything, understand!? I don't need saving, so you can just get the fuck out of here!" Harry almost growled in frustration.

"Fine, Malfoy," he snapped. "I didn't see anything. I told you what I saw, and you have my concern. What you do with it is your own damn decision." He budged past Malfoy, who had pinned him to the wall, and started to walk away.

"Potter, wait!" Malfoy called after him. Harry stopped, and spun around.

"No, Malfoy, I'm not going to tell anyone," he said, answering the question before it had been asked. "And only because I know it wouldn't help you if I did. But you better bloody hope that I'm the only one who's noticed because I know the other Gryffindors wouldn't feel the same way and I really doubt the Slytherins would take very well to that sort of information either. So just… watch yourself, okay?" Without waiting for a response, he turned around and headed for the Hall, leaving the blonde standing by himself in the hallway, glaring angrily and clutching at his wrist.


	2. Chapter 2

Draco stayed frozen in the alcove for a few minutes after Potter stormed away; glaring furiously in the direction that he'd went. He rubbed at his wrist from outside the sleeve; irritating the cuts and making them sting. He was absolutely livid that Potter would have the nerve to approach him like that, as though what he did to himself was any of his damn business. He swallowed, roughly and noticed with irritation that his hands were shaking.

A little bit of his anger dissipated as it came into his realization that Potter was right. What was he supposed to do if someone else had noticed? What if someone went to one of the professors about it? He couldn't have Dumbledore or Pomfrey on his case because they were certain to write to his father and, well, he couldn't even imagine what would happen if any of the Slytherins found out. Another wave of anger attacked him and he hit the wall, hard, with his fist. He winced slightly at the pain shooting through his hand. No one was supposed to see. He shook harder as panic finally overcame him. How could he be so careless?

After looking up and down the hall and ensuring it was empty, he stole away toward the Slytherin common room, deciding to skip lunch. He didn't want to see Potter again.

When he entered the Slytherin commons, he was delighted to find it empty. He hoped desperately that the same could be said for his dormitory, and as luck would have it, he found himself alone. Good. He went straight to his bed and drew the curtains shut. After placing a sticking charm around them so that no one but him could open them, he reached into his nightstand drawer and pulled out a simple, silver pocket-knife.

Draco flipped it open and stared at it. He took a deep, shaking breath and tried to steady his hands. How long had he sat there with his arm exposed? Clearly, if Potter saw, then there was nothing stopping anyone else from seeing either. How could he be so goddamn careless?!

He pulled his shirt sleeve up, violently, exposing dozens of scars in various degrees of healing and the 9 new ones that were probably what Potter had seen. How could he be so careless? He took the pocketknife to his arm, still shaking, and slashed angrily at the open area of skin that was by this point scar-tissue. A deep cut opened on the pale surface and he watched triumphantly as the blood started to bead up in a perfect line. He repeated this processes 6 times in quick succession and then set the knife down, staring at his handiwork in a mixed emotion of fear and anger. He wasn't shaking anymore, and was instead fixated on watching the blood drip down his arm in a steady stream. He stayed that way for a few minutes, calming himself, and then walked across the dormitory into the bathroom.

He turned on the tap and ran his arm beneath the cold water, staring at the blood as it swirled down the drain. Then he turned it off and, holding a wad of tissues to the injured area, returned to his bed. Feeling considerably better with the stinging sensation now pulsing across his arm, he pulled a notebook from the same drawer he had retrieved the knife, and took with it a quill and inkpot. He dipped the quill in the ink and started to write.

_17, October, 1997_

_Potter noticed my cuts during Potions class today and the stupid prat actually had the audacity to approach me about them. I don't know why I was so careless in the first place to let them be exposed to begin with and to make matters worse I know that if Potter saw them anyone else could have seen them too, and it scares me, a lot. _

_And of course, because no one has ever (that I know of ) noticed my cuts before I had no idea how to react when he did try to approach me, and the stupid idiot that I am didn't even deny it. I should have lied, or come up with some kind of story to explain what he saw, or hell, I probably could have even gotten away with making out that he was crazy and hadn't seen anything at all. Instead, I just got defensive and I'm sure I left no doubt in his head that what he saw was true. _

_The funny part was, Potter didn't laugh or make fun of me like you'd expect him. He actually seemed… worried, and while part of me thinks it was all an act to get me to tell him, another part thinks he actually meant it, and I don't know how to feel about that. Whatever, it was probably just that stupid hero complex he has, and it doesn't matter because I fucked it all up anyway. If he actually __did__ give a shit, (which I doubt), he doesn't anymore because I just stood there and yelled at him like an idiot. Fuck, why do I even care what bloody Potter has to say? I don't need him. I don't need anybody. I'm fine. _

_I just hope that Potter keeps his word and doesn't actually tell anybody what he saw today. He seemed like he meant it when he told me he wouldn't, and he said it was because he knew it wouldn't "help me," whatever the hell that's supposed to me. I don't need his fucking help. Why the hell would he even __want__ to help? The stupid git's hated me since we were eleven. How dare he act like he actually gives a shit about me? That's just not fair. _

Draco took a deep breath and wiped at his eyes, which had grown slightly moist.

_Gods, why do I even care so much? He was never supposed to notice in the first place. It was just a fluke. He'll never mention this again and neither will I. We will continue to move on with our lives as if this never happened, and that's just the way it's supposed to be. Just the way __I'm__ supposed to be. Alone. _

_Lunch is just about over now so I've got to go back to class. _

_Sincerely, _

_Draco Malfoy_

Draco closed the book and closed his eyes against the unwelcome tears that had gathered there. No. He didn't need Potter. He didn't need anybody. He took a deep, steadying breath, wiped the moisture from his eyes, and pulled his shirt sleeve back down over the cuts, some of which were still bleeding. He was fine, and he needed to get to class.

He put the notebook back in the drawer with his quill and ink, but pocketed the knife, just in case he decided he needed later. He cast a quick locking charm on the drawer, stole himself together, and pulled on his robe. He was fine. The encounter with Potter this morning shook him up a little, but that was all. He was fine.

He gathered up his stuff and headed off toward the charms corridor on the fourth floor, feeling lucky that he had that class with the Ravenclaws, rather than the Gryffindors. He saw Potter coming toward him from down the hall and hid momentarily in an empty classroom until he passed, determined to do everything he could to avoid the boy as much as possible. He didn't want to see him ever again, he told himself as he walked into the charms room and took a seat at the back. If Potter disappeared tomorrow, it would be the best thing ever to happen to him.

He closed his eyes and tried his best to listen to the lecture, but couldn't focus on anything aside from the stinging sensation on his arm. He wondered briefly whether the cuts were straining his shirt sleeve, but didn't dare look in fear that someone else might see. He wondered how many people _had _seen and how long it would be before Madame Pomfrey called him down to the infirmary to check him out. It was none of her business, he thought angrily as Flitwick rambled unintelligibly from the front of the room.

_Calm down, Draco, _he told himself, _you don't even know if Potter is going to tell. I bet no one even saw. No one cares enough to pay that kind of attention to you. _He closed his fingers around the cuff of his sleeve so there was no chance it would slide down again. _Potter does. _He chewed on his lower lip. _No, no he doesn't. He just butts too much into other people's lives. He doesn't actually care. _

"Mr. Malfoy? Mr. Malfoy!" Draco's eyes snapped open and he was unfortunate enough to see Professor Flitwick's angry face glaring up at him from beside his desk. "Would you be so kind as to tell the rest of the class what Charm it is that we are studying today?" Draco blushed.

"I… Well, I…" He honestly had no idea. Flitwick glared harder and Draco wished he could he could dissolve under the gazes he was receiving from the entire class.

"Then I suggest you pay better attention, Mr. Malfoy!" Flitwick snapped. "5 points will be taken from Slytherin." There was a giggle from the Ravenclaws on the other side of the room, and Draco resisted the urge to hide his face as the whole of Slytherin turned in their seats to glare at him. He swallowed the lump in his throat, feeling incredibly grateful for the knife sitting comfortingly in his pocket. He was fine.

By the time Draco went to dinner that night, there were four fresh cuts on his arm.

*Later*

Draco locked the bathroom door behind him and started to slowly slip off his clothes, carefully avoiding the mirror as he did so. It had not been a good day.

He reached into the shower and started the tap, making sure the water was scalding hot before stepping beneath the stream. He stood there for a solid fifteen minutes without making any attempt to wash himself, as he watched the skin on his feet turn a bright, angry red beneath the heat. He stared at his shredded arm, and stared briefly at the right one which, though not nearly as bad as the left, had also suffered the sting of his blade. The oldest scar on his body had been there for close to 7 months now, and this was first time anyone had noticed.

Or, Draco pondered as he picked up his shampoo, the first time anyone had said something to him. Somehow the idea that someone may have noticed and did nothing about it bothered him more than he cared to admit. Draco slowly washed, trying not to think about the day's events but unable to think about anything else. None of his housemates were talking to him, which was something he would prefer if were to come without the angry glares and rough shoulder bumps he was receiving each time he came too near to one of them. It wasn't as bad, however, as it had been the night he had cost the house 50 points back in his first year of school.

He turned off the water and started to towel himself off as Blaise began pounding on the bathroom door. Dinner had been miserable for him, having spent the entire meal with Slytherin eyes glaring at him from all sides and Potter staring obnoxiously at him from across the hall. At least today was Friday.

"Open the fucking door, Malfoy; you've been in there all night!" Draco groaned and pulled his pyjamas before unlocking the door. Blaise stormed in before Draco even had a chance to leave and he hastened as quickly as possible out of the room before the boy started to undress.

He glanced at the clock and crawled into bed after ensuring that his knife was locked safely in his bedside drawer.

He cast a sticking charm on his curtains again, and turned out the lights, which he knew were going to come on again as soon as Blaise had finished in the shower.

Draco knew from the moment he closed his eyes that he was going to have trouble sleeping. Potter's words instantly began to float around in his head, making him toss and turn.

_I wouldn't wish that kind of pain on anyone. Not even __you__ deserve that. _What made Potter think he was in pain anyway? He wasn't in pain. _No, I'm not going to tell anyone, and only because I know it wouldn't help you if I did. _Who said Draco needed help? He was fine.

He rolled over and pressed his face into his pillow. He started crying, silently. He was fine.


	3. Chapter 3

During the month following their confrontation, Harry saw almost none of the blonde-haired Slytherin. It had taken Harry about a week to realize that Malfoy was avoiding him entirely, and by a fortnight, he'd given up on any sort of hope that the boy might actually say something to him.

Now that he thought about it, really, the whole idea was kind of silly. Why on earth would Draco Malfoy – of all people – talk to _him _about his personal problems? Besides, he probably had his own friends in his own house that he could talk to about anything he needed. While concerned, it was none of Harry's business what Malfoy did to himself, and it was rather unfair of him to assume that none of the Slytherins knew or cared about his foe.

At the same time, Harry had to wonder why Malfoy would do something like that at all.

Presently, he was waiting outside the door to the potions classroom, waiting for Ron, who had managed to leave his textbook in the Great Hall during lunch time. Hermione had already seated herself inside and was shaking her head irritably, as Ron had blamed her for his forgotten book. Harry barely noticed when Malfoy brushed past him, with an air that suggested that he didn't exist at all. He sighed, and supposed that good had come out of their confrontation after all, in that Malfoy no longer pestered him or his friends in his fear that Harry would expose him.

Ron finally appeared, panting, and Harry suppressed a laugh.

"Have a good run, did you?" He asked.

"Shut up, Harry." Ron answered with a glare. Harry grinned and followed his friend into the classroom, taking his usual seat in the back. He was surprised to find that Malfoy, too, was seated in the back row, directly across the aisle from the unofficial Gryffindor side of the classroom. Ever since Harry had cornered him a month ago, Malfoy had taken to sitting in the front of the room against the wall, effectively as far from Harry as possible. Today, Harry found himself sitting beside him.

He sat down with caution, unsure why Malfoy would suddenly disregard his adamant aversion. When Malfoy simply gave him a side-long glance and then returned to scribbling in his notebook, Harry decided it was safe. He was only seated for a moment when Snape walked in, storming to the front of the room, seeming angrier than usual.

"It seems that almost none of you possess the knowledge necessary to pass even a simple essay." He spat before he reached the chalkboard. "And as a result I am irritably finding it crucial to waste an entire day of class reviewing the properties of Lace Wing Flies. I expect each of you to be taking notes, as I will assign another essay, which – if you do not pass – will result in consequence." There was a collective groan throughout the room.

"I hate lectures." Ron whispered, a look on his face suggesting he had eaten a foul Every Flavour Bean. Harry nodded in assent. He pulled some parchment from his bag, and for a full ten minutes managed to take notes before his mind began to wander. He glanced over at Malfoy, who was writing furiously. Harry frowned. He had been seeing Malfoy in a different light lately. He took note of the dark circles beneath his eyes, the way he took extra caution to avoid his sleeves exposing any part of his wrists, and the sad look that he always seemed to have on his face. After a moment, he shook it off, reminding himself that whether he knew Malfoy or not, it was not a good idea to be staring at his sworn enemy during the middle of class.

For the following week or so – much to Harry's surprise – Malfoy continued to sit as near to Harry as socially acceptable, not only in Potions but during their other lessons as well. Bewildering as this was, it didn't stop there. Tuesday, on his way toward Transfiguration, Harry actually found himself walking beside Malfoy on the way to class. This behaviour continued until he actually grew used to it.

On Friday afternoon, as Harry sat in the back of the Potions classroom as usual, Malfoy stopped on his way toward his seat across the aisle.

"Hi, Potter." He said quietly.

"Er…" Harry stammered. "Hey, Malfoy. E-everything okay?" Malfoy opened his mouth as if he were going to say something, but seemed to change his mind. He closed his mouth and just stood in front of Harry for a moment, staring at him with a look in his eyes that suggested both confusion and desperation. Harry was about to say something else when Ron and Hermione walked in, and Malfoy turned around and sat down without saying a word. Harry spent the entire class period trying to understand what had just happened.

The following Saturday morning, Harry was in the 2nd floor toilets when he heard the door open behind him. Unperturbed, he returned to his attempt to brush his hair into place when footsteps approached quickly behind him. Seeing Malfoy in the mirror, he turned around. When he'd reached him, the blonde yanked his sleeve up, and shoved his arm in Harry's face.

"There." He said shortly. Speechless, Harry stared for a moment at Malfoy's arm, which was covered from the wrist up to his elbow in varying degrees of cuts, slashes, and scars. Six of them appeared to be brand new, four of which were still freshly bleeding. Harry opened and closed his mouth a few times before he was able to speak.

"Why are showing me this, Malfoy?" He stammered ineloquently. Something changed on Malfoy's face. Quiet but strong determination melted away and grey eyes widened into an expression of devastation. Malfoy took a step backwards and pulled his sleeve back down over his arm.

"N-nothing." He stammered. "Nevermind." Malfoy turned around and ran from the bathroom, leaving Harry standing dumbfounded in front of the sinks. For a full minute or so, he was unable to do anything but stare in the direction of the door. After regaining his composure, he went off in search of the blonde.

As Harry started down the hall, he reasoned that –having only been given around 60 seconds head start – Malfoy couldn't have gone far. He scanned the hall, the castle windows, and through the empty classroom doors as he went. Just as he was on the verge of giving up, something caught his eye. The door to the first year Charms classroom was closed. This wasn't all that unusual in itself, but as it was the only door in the hall not ajar, it was enough to raise Harry's suspicion.

Harry approached the door and knocked gently. He didn't wait for an answer nor did he expect to get one. He slowly pushed it inward and entered with a caution. There was Malfoy.

The blonde was on the stone floor, leaning against the back wall of the classroom. His knees were pulled to his chest, and to Harry's distress, was crying softly into them. Given their recent events Malfoy recent behaviour, he was unsure whether this should surprise him.

Harry approached Malfoy slowly, and slid down the stone wall to sit beside him. Malfoy didn't give any sign of acknowledgement. Harry didn't know what to say. For a moment he considered asking if the boy was alright, but decided it was a stupid question and spent another moment struggling for the appropriate words. After what felt like a long and awkward silence, he spoke.

"I suppose you'd like to talk now, huh, Malfoy?" He asked gently. Malfoy shook his head into his knees.

"No." He sniffed, using a tone of voice that Harry decided was supposed to sound cold. "There's nothing to talk about. Leave me alone, Potter." Harry sighed. This was going to be difficult.

"Look, Malfoy," he answered. "I'm sorry if what I said in the bathroom made it sound like I didn't care. I was just surprised, you know, because you've being avoiding me for well over a month. You caught me off guard." Malfoy suddenly looked up and glared at him, and Harry felt a stab of guilt upon seeing his former adversary's tear streaked complexion.

"I haven't been avoiding you for the past fortnight!" He snapped, and another tear escaped down his cheek. Harry thought about this. Well, yeah, that was true enough.

"You've been working up the courage to show me that, haven't you?" Harry asked quietly, his innards sinking. Malfoy's lower lip trembled and he buried his face back into his knees. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize." Unsure of how to continue, Harry reached out a hand and tentatively placed it on Malfoy's shoulder. The blonde let out a sob.

"I fucking believed you!" He cried into his robes.

"Believed me about what?" Harry asked softly, trying to tread as lightly as possible.

"You made me think you wanted to help me." Harry heard him whisper. He tightened his grip on Malfoy's shoulder.

"I do want to help you, Malfoy." He answered strongly. "I was only surprised, is all. I promise. Everything I said that day still stands now." Malfoy took in a deep, shuddering breath in what Harry assumed was an attempt to compose himself. He picked his head up from his knees and looked Harry directly in the eyes.

"You promise?" He asked shakily. "You absolutely promise?" Harry nodded.

"I promise, Malfoy." The boy nodded once and set about wiping a few still-falling tears from his pale face. For a few moments the two sat in silence and Malfoy stared through the back wall of the classroom. "Are you alright?" Harry finally asked.

"Do I look alright to you, Potter?" He asked flatly. Harry frowned.

"Well, no. I guess not."

"Okay then." Harry sighed, but didn't release his hold on Malfoy's shoulder.

"Why did you come and show me that, Malfoy?" He asked again. "And I mean that honestly."

"Well I did that for a couple reasons, Potter." Malfoy spouted shortly. "The first being that you already knew and it spared me the trouble to telling someone else." Harry waited for a continuation and spoke when he got none.

"And the others…?" He prompted. Malfoy stared straight ahead and answered very slowly.

"I might not have been able to take this anymore… and there's a chance you were the only person I could think of that might actually give a shit." Harry frowned.

"Take any more of what, Malfoy?" The Slytherin chewed discontentedly on his lower lip, but didn't answer.

"Is that too rough of a question right now?" Harry asked softly, and the blonde nodded. "Alright… we'll take it a step at a time then. But you have to talk to me. You came in, you got me involved, and you're stuck with me now. That means you have to cooperate." Malfoy nodded again.

"Okay." He croaked.

"How long have you been doing this to yourself?" Harry asked. Malfoy finally turned to look at him.

"Close to 9 months." He answered quietly, holding his arm out to Harry like an offering. "8 and a half." Harry let go of Malfoy's shoulder and cautiously reached for the arm.

"Y- You want me to look at that?" He asked hesitantly. Malfoy nodded shyly and Harry took the boy's hand in his own, bringing the pale, lacerated arm closer. "Jesus, Malfoy." Harry swore. "You did this in 9 months?" Malfoy nodded again. He was having a hard time finding skin that hadn't been scarred or cut in some way or another. He looked up in to the pale face that belonged to the arm and was startled to find Malfoy's grey eyes again filled with tears. He traced – without touching – his index finger around the six fresh on the wrist. "You did this this morning, didn't you?" He asked, as gently as he could manage.

"During breakfast." Malfoy answered, and his voice broke slightly. Harry acknowledged a sick feeling in his stomach, along with the realization that he hadn't seen Malfoy at breakfast in a while.


	4. Chapter 4

**REVIEW PLEASE**

**And I invite you all to friend me on Pottermore. My username is Fireboltrain23830**

Draco sat quietly as Potter gently inspected his arm. He'd stopped crying and was watching in a state of disbelief over the caution the darker haired boy was taking not to harm him. When Potter appeared done, Draco took his hand back and shook his sleeve down over his arm and turned to stare at the wall again. He'd been using breakfast time as an opportunity almost every morning during the recent weeks.

"I don't want you to be afraid to talk to me, Malfoy." Potter said. "I can understand why you might be a little reserved, but you needn't worry about me." His tone was somehow both gentle and firm together. Draco bit down on his lower lip and winced slightly in pain. He had been doing that too much lately. He rested his head on his knees and heard Potter sigh beyond the darkness. "Perhaps we should take it slow."

"Okay." Draco whispered into his knees. He kicked himself on the inside, remembering how prepared he had been when he'd strutted into the bathroom. He was ready and willing at that moment to talk about everything. Now, he couldn't force himself to speak in full sentences.

"Why don't we get off the ground and get to know each other a bit?" Potter suggested kindly. Draco nodded slightly, but was apprehensive. "As friends." Potter added. While unable to shake the feeling that Potter was only making this offer out of pity, the idea appealed to Draco. He'd never had a real friend before. He nodded again.

"Alright."

"It's a Hogsmeade trip today," said Potter. "If it's alright with you, I'd like to take you for a drink. You can tell the Slytherins you're getting to know me so you can better fuck with me in the future. I don't care." To be honest, Draco didn't care either.

"You're not embarrassed to be seen with me?" Draco asked. Potter shook his head and got to his feet.

"Of course not," he said. He held his hand out, and Draco took it, allowing the darker boy to pull him to his feet. Draco wrapped his arms around himself, feeling hollow. He'd stopped pretending some time ago, and yet not one person seemed to have noticed.

In what appeared to be a split-second decision, Potter reached forward and pulled him into a hug. For a moment, Draco stopped breathing. In the following moment, he tried to remember the last time he'd been hugged by someone. He couldn't think of one. By time that Potter pulled away, he was crying. He stood that way in the middle of the floor, arms wrapped around his body, as tears slid silently down his reddened cheeks.

"It's alright, Malfoy." Potter said softly. "It's okay." Draco felt a hand on his shoulder, and for the next ten minutes, Potter stood beside him, patiently waiting for him to calm.

"I'm sorry." Draco let out with a shaky voice, as he wiped the remaining tears from his cheeks. Potter shook his head.

"Don't." He said shortly. "Don't ever apologize. Not for that." Draco sniffed and nodded, although his feeling of guilt was not assuaged. Potter wasn't going to want to hug him anymore. "Are you okay?" Draco shook his head in honesty. "Let me rephrase," said Potter. "Are you okay to go, or do you need a moment?"

"We can go." Draco said weakly.

"Are you sure?" Potter asked cautiously. Draco nodded. "Alright then. It's cold. Why don't each of us go grab a cloak, and we'll meet near the staircase, okay?" Draco looked at him wearily. "I promise that I'll be there, Malfoy. I give you my word."

"Okay." Draco answered slowly, deciding to believe him. The exited the classroom, and with a deep breath, they parted ways. He wasn't sure how he was meant to feel about the situation, but Draco couldn't rid himself of the fluttering sensation in his stomach. He was nervous.

Draco walked through the corridors quickly, taking the stairs at a faster pace than he probably should. What if Potter had lied? His pace slowed as he approached the dungeons. Down here, it was cold. Down here, it was dark. Draco found himself again crossing his arms tightly as he cautiously stepped down the corridor. Potter was lying. He was sure of it. And then what? What would he do when he reached the staircase and Potter wasn't there? Surely, some more cuts were going to be involved, Draco thought, as he whispered the password to the Common Room's entrance.

Draco entered the common room with reserve. He did not want to be noticed today. Finding it empty, he quickened his pace. Would he cry, he wondered? Draco thought maybe. He reached the door the seventh year dormitory. He was probably going to cry, he thought. Or he might pass over crying and just collapse all together. The dorm was empty aside from Blaise, who seemed to be napping. Draco grabbed a cloak from his trunk, and almost rushed straight back out of the room but was stopped by his reflection in the mirror.

Maybe, he thought as he made an attempt to flatten his hair, maybe this would finally be enough for him to die. Draco felt chills down his spine. Maybe he would end it, today, when he found that staircase empty. He froze for a moment, staring into the mirror. Maybe it was finally over…

Blaise stirred in the bed nearest him and startled Draco into jumping. A tear slipped down his cheek and he wiped it away quickly. He needed to get away from there. Wrapping his cloak around his shoulders, and placing his pocketknife into his pocket for safe-keeping, he shoved out of the dormitory.

As Draco headed toward the staircase with a near-running pace, the anxious feeling in the pit of his stomach grew with every step. His hands shook and his throat tightened as he grew nearer and nearer their place of meeting, preparing himself for abandonment. By the time he rounded the final corner, and by the time the Grand Staircase finally entered his sight, Draco was so sure that Potter was not going to be there, that he very nearly missed seeing the figure standing at its foot.

There was Potter, a green cloak wrapped elegantly around his shoulders.

"You're here." Draco stammered out, stupidly. Potter nodded.

"I told you I would be," he answered simply. Draco nodded back, feeling slightly out of breath. "Come on, then, Malfoy. Before the entire place is full." Draco nodded again and walked beside Potter out of the castle's front doors. For much of the journey, they walked in silence, aside from the sound of the freshly fallen snow crunching beneath their feet. Draco clutched the knife inside his pocket.

"So, be honest with me," Draco said quietly as they approached the village. "How obvious is it that I've been crying?" Potter frowned.

"I might not be the right person to ask that, you know," he said. "I already know."

"Please just answer me, Potter."

"Pretty obvious, I guess," Potter answered reluctantly. "Your skin turns red, and your eyes get bloodshot." Draco didn't answer. "Why are you asking?" Draco shrugged. "No, honestly, Malfoy. Why?"

"Because no one else has ever noticed." Draco crossed his arms.

"I have," Potter answered quickly, as the two reached the entrance to the village. "I." He started to speak but seemed to change his mind about what he was going to say.

"You what?" Draco pressed him. "When?" Potter sighed.

"I've noticed almost every day since I confronted you about your cuts. I just never said anything because I figured I was the last person you'd want to hear it from." Draco fell silent, wondering whether this was the same with others of his classmates as well.

"No one's said a word to me," Draco answered quietly, as the two reached the Three Broomsticks and subsequently entered. Potter looked concerned.

"Not even your friends?" He asked, as they were seated. Draco snorted.

"My housemates, you mean?" He asked. "I can't name a single one that I'd even think to call a friend. And no. Not a word."

"Well…" said Potter slowly. "That doesn't mean that haven't noticed." Draco sighed and pulled into himself.

"That makes it even worse."

"Can I get you boys anything?" Draco looked up to see a cheerful waitress standing beside the table with a notepad.

"Butterbeer please." He mumbled.

"Make that two," Potter answered. The girl took down the note and sauntered off. Potter looked Draco in the eye. "Whether or not the Slytherins are oblivious," he answered, "I can list off one person who has both noticed and cares very much that you have been crying, Malfoy. Forget about them." Draco nodded, feeling slightly better.

"Thank you." He said quietly. Potter nodded and stared at him, curiously. "What?"

"You're so soft-spoken." Potter said. "I suppose I'm just surprised." Draco wasn't sure what to say to that and began playing with his pocketknife. "It's not a bad thing," Potter added to the silence. "It's alright." Draco nodded. "So," Potter said. "Let's get to know one another, huh?"

"Alright." Said Draco shyly. "How do we do that?"

"Hmm…" Said Potter. "What's your favourite colour?" Draco couldn't help laughing at this.

"Blue." He answered. "What's yours?" Potter smiled.

"Probably green." He said. "It's good to see you smiling." The waitress arrived again, this time carrying their drinks.

"Thank you." Both boys answered politely.

"It's your turn to ask a question," Said Potter. "Anything you want to know."

"Alright," said Draco. "Anything?"

"Anything," answered Potter warmly.

"Were you ever actually involved with Luna Lovegood?" Draco had heard the rumour and had always been curious. Potter shook his head.

"No, no never." He said with a laugh. "I'm actually gay." Something dropped out of the pit of Draco's stomach with these words.

"Really?" He said in surprise. Potter nodded, seeming not in the least bit shamed by the admission.

"I – I am too." Answered Draco with hesitation. "Only… I've never told anyone." He started playing with his knife again.

"You just did." Said Potter with a smile. "My turn. Do you actually think less of people from muggle heritage?" Draco shook his head, quickly.

"No." He answered. "I did for a bit, when I was very young, because my father had taught me that way, but I don't believe it now and haven't since I've been at Hogwarts. I just… I say what's expected of me and that's all." Potter nodded.

"Your turn," he answered. Draco thought for a moment. Over the last seven years with Potter, he was sure there had been millions of things that he'd once wanted to know about him. Now, when he was presented with the opportunity, he couldn't think of a single one.

"What…." He said after a long while of thinking. "What's it like living with muggles?" Potter smiled.

"Well, it's just normal life for me. I'm sure it would seem real strange to you though."

"Do you like it?" Draco asked, curious. "Is it better than living like us?"

"You skipped my turn," said Potter, sticking out his tongue. "And magic makes most stuff easier, but muggles have things like telephones that make it easier to communicate. And I hate the muggles I live with so I'd always rather be here. My turn. What type of music do you like?" Draco liked this question, because no one had ever shown any interest in this sort of thing before.

"Lots," he answered, "But I listen mainly to muggle rock. My owl is named for John Lennon, as a matter of fact."

"Really?" Answered Potter in surprise. "That's great. I think we might have some things in common then. Your turn." Draco felt lighter on the inside than he had in months.

"Why do you hate your muggle family?" He asked immediately. Potter gave a sad smile.

"They hate me. My aunt hated my mother out of jealousy. Since I've lived with them they've treated me like a servant. I lived in a cupboard until I was eleven, so my cousin could have two rooms." Draco felt his mouth drop open in shock.

"But you're the chosen one." He said before he could stop himself. He'd always imagined that Potter's life was perfect.

"Not to them," said Potter. "But it doesn't matter to me anyway. Hogwarts is my home. The Dursley's is just a place I'm stuck with in the off time."

"I can understand that," Draco responded softly.

"You don't like being at home?" Potter asked curiously. Draco felt the weight drop back into his body and he shook his head.

"No." He whispered. Potter seemed to sense his distress.

"We don't have to talk about it right now, Draco." He said. "We're just relaxing right now." Draco's head snapped up with the use of his first name.

"Y-you called me Draco." He stammered.

"Well, yes," said Potter hesitantly. "Is that alright?"

"Yes!" Draco answered, a little too quickly. "Yes, it's fine. N-no one ever calls me that. It's like… they forget that I'm not just a Malfoy, you know?" Potter smiled warmly.

"Alright then." He said. "But then I want you to call me, Harry, got it? We're friends now." Draco felt a rush of warmth at the idea.

"Okay." Draco said, smiling. "Harry." By this point, both of their drinks had been emptied, and Harry was leaving some money on the table.

"Alright, Draco," Harry said, standing up and helping Draco to his feet. "What would you like to do?" Draco shrugged. He had no idea what friends were supposed to do together.

"We can just walk around, I guess." He answered. "I'd kinda like to talk more."

"Let's do then." Said Harry cheerfully, and he led Draco out the door and down the snowy road of Hogsmeade.

**REVIEW PLEASE**

**Friend me on Pottermore. My username is Fireboltrain23830**


End file.
